


But Something in My Heart is Loose

by mytimehaspassed



Series: Moon Fever [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Ghosts, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:32:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson comes running down the stairs at the sound of the window pane shattering, and he’s naked, and, moments later, so is Lydia beside him, and they both stand there in front of Derek, at attention, their bodies rigid and asexual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Something in My Heart is Loose

**BUT SOMETHING IN MY HEART IS LOOSE**  
TEEN WOLF  
Derek/Stiles; Lydia/Jackson; Jackson/Stiles; Isaac/Stiles; Lydia/Jackson/Isaac; (non-con) Peter/Stiles  
 **WARNINGS** : ghost!AU; (so obviously) main character death; non-consensual touching  
 **NOTES** : Moon Fever Series

First: [You With Air](http://andletmestand.livejournal.com/26839.html)  
Second: [Nothing But Heart](http://andletmestand.livejournal.com/27050.html)  
Third: [As We Walk Into the Night](http://andletmestand.livejournal.com/27153.html)  
Fourth: [With the Heart of a Child](http://andletmestand.livejournal.com/27466.html)  
Fifth: [When it was Dark I Called and You Came](http://andletmestand.livejournal.com/27884.html)  
Sixth: [We're Sitting on a Ruin](http://andletmestand.livejournal.com/28229.html)  
Seventh: [Burn the Others Down](http://andletmestand.livejournal.com/28667.html)

 

Jackson comes running down the stairs at the sound of the window pane shattering, and he’s naked, and, moments later, so is Lydia beside him, and they both stand there in front of Derek, at attention, their bodies rigid and asexual. Derek glances briefly at them, his eyes sweeping over their bodies without a hint of embarrassment, and then at Isaac, too, who moves behind Stiles and then up and away when he sees Derek, his warm shoulder just barely touching Stiles’ shoulder as he gets up. 

“Derek,” Jackson says, and his voice is small and full of guilt. 

“I told Peter that none of you would be here,” Derek says, his voice like gravel in the warm sunshine. Jackson stiffens, and Stiles doesn’t know if that’s because it was his idea to come here or if he just remembered fucking Stiles the night before, just feet from where Derek is standing now. Jackson looks over at Stiles, and Stiles looks away. “I really hoped that I would be right.”

Jackson starts to speak, a sheepish, apologetic look on his face, but Stiles cuts him off. “They didn’t want to come here, but I asked them to,” he says, and Derek looks up to the ceiling as if he doesn’t know how to handle Stiles, as if he never knew, but Stiles can feel the anger inside of him welling, the anger that starting building at Peter Hale’s house the night he saw Derek for the first time in five months, the anger that continued to build since then, the anger that boils inside of him every day. 

“I know that’s not true,” Derek says, finally, and Stiles can see Jackson and Lydia and Isaac all looking at him, and for once he’s relieved that Allison is downstairs asleep in the dark because Stiles never wants her to see him like this. The lamp besides him shakes and moves an inch to the right. Stiles can see Isaac out of the corner of his eye, watching it warily, slowly moving away. 

“Fuck you, Derek,” Stiles says, and Derek actually growls. 

Jackson is the first to place himself between them, his naked body alarmingly white in the sunshine, his arms stretched out between Derek in the kitchen and Stiles still sitting on the couch, the blankets piled in his naked lap. “Stiles, thanks for everything, but I think we should leave.” 

An open window in the living room slams shut, but doesn’t break. Stiles can hear all the locks turning on every door, loudly, forcefully. “Nobody’s leaving until I know what the fuck is going on,” Stiles says, and his voice is calm, even if his hands are shaking at his sides. 

“Not now, Stiles,” Derek says, flippantly, and Stiles stands up, and he’s unashamed, and he’s livid. 

“Fuck you, Derek,” Stiles says again, and he can hear the bedroom doors upstairs slamming once, then twice, then three times, over and over again. “You will tell me what’s going on or nobody will get out of this house alive. And good luck trying to stop me, because last time I checked, your claws have no effect on ghosts.”

Derek’s eyes flash, bluer than ice blue, and the tension in the air is palpable, the silence hanging heavy, but Stiles doesn’t back down. 

“Okay,” Derek says, and his voice is low, whiskey-rough. “Okay.” 

***

Derek leads Stiles upstairs to his old bedroom, where the covers on his bed were thrown haphazardly on the floor from Jackson and Lydia’s hasty escape. His clothes are still in the drawers. His shoes are still in the closet. His dog cage sits, unused, in the corner. 

Stiles almost chokes when he sees him in this room, the room that used to be his, the room that used to be Stiles’, and he opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again. On the way up, he had felt his anger dissipate like a cloud, and now he only feels numb and cold and nothing like being alive. 

Derek turns to him, and Stiles can tell that it hurts him to be here, and one part of Stiles wants to take away that pain, but the other part, the larger part, wants to claw at that cavern with his fingers and his nails and his teeth until Derek starts to bleed. “I’m sorry,” Derek says, and Stiles lets out something that sounds like a laugh. 

“You keep saying that,” Stiles says, and Derek looks down at his hands. “But I don’t know how that can be true. Not with what you put me through, not with what you’re doing. Those kids down there are terrified of Peter, you know.”

“I am, too,” and Derek says it so softly that Stiles almost doesn’t catch it, but he does, and Stiles moves to take Derek’s hands, and it’s the first time they’ve touched in a long time, and Stiles has missed that heat, has missed the weight of Derek on his ghostly skin. 

“Then leave,” Stiles says, and he looks at Derek and Derek looks at him, and when Derek puts his mouth on Stiles’ mouth, Stiles starts to melt. 

***

“It’s not that easy,” Derek says with his tongue on Stiles’ skin. They’re rolling around on the bed, with Derek on top, and then Stiles, and then Derek again, naked skin pressed against naked skin, and Stiles has never felt so solid in his entire career as a ghost, and Derek is big and bulky over Stiles’ small frame, and Stiles has his mouth latched on to Derek’s neck, and Derek breathes against Stiles’ forehead, and Stiles wants him to push so hard into his skin with his hands and mouth and teeth that Stiles bruises everywhere. Derek is fast and rough, and nothing about this is like it used to be, before Derek left. 

“You don’t know him,” Derek says with his mouth on Stiles’ neck, sucking and then biting, Stiles arching up and then back down again, Derek’s warmth surrounding him like a thick blanket. “You don’t know how this will end if I never go back.”

Stiles doesn’t say he doesn’t care, but that’s only because Derek takes his breath away, his mouth traveling down and down his body, his lips and tongue and teeth wetting Stiles’ naked stomach, and then lower than that. 

“You don’t know Peter,” Derek says.

And Stiles breathes out and says, “Shut the fuck up.”

***

By the time Stiles makes his way down the stairs, fully clothed for the first time that day, Allison is sitting in the kitchen with her hands curled around a mug of lukewarm coffee, the sun dipping dangerously below the horizon. Derek is just behind him, his hand on the small of Stiles’ ghostly back, and Jackson and Lydia and Isaac are all sitting comfortably on the couch, in various states of touching and not touching, and Stiles wonders when his house turned into a haven for orgies, especially since it wasn’t even this bad in the ‘60s. 

Derek pauses just at the bottom of the landing, his eyes locking on Allison. Stiles can feel his hand turn into something rougher, something sharper, and Stiles pulls in one long breath that he doesn’t really need. “It’s okay,” he says softly, and Derek relaxes all at once, and everyone looks up at the both of them.

“Um,” Stiles says, and there’s this wave of embarrassment that washes over him, and Derek pushes past him gently, his fingers briefly touching Stiles’ fingers, and goes over to Isaac. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, looking somewhere in the vicinity of Isaac’s hip, Isaac’s unbroken mouth, and Isaac nods his head slowly, this look sweeping across his face, like he’s not sure whether he should be scared or grateful for Derek’s tender, worried tone. Jackson has his hand on Isaac’s hand, and Lydia has her foot balancing on Jackson’s thigh, and both of them are still, silent, at Derek’s attention. Stiles missed the part where Derek became the leader to the younger werewolves, but he imagines that it will make everything a lot easier when they leave Peter’s pack. 

“I slept with Stiles,” Jackson says suddenly, and Stiles shoots a sharp look at Jackson, but Jackson is looking down at his hand gripping Isaac’s hand, and Lydia is carefully not looking at Stiles’ form by the stairs, and Isaac’s eyes go big, and he looks at Derek, and then at Jackson, and then at Derek again. 

Stiles says, “Jackson,” but it sounds choked and guilty. 

And Derek makes a sound like a laugh, and everyone, including Allison, who by then had been trying to cower in her corner of the kitchen with a confused, bewildered look, looks up at him. “I know,” he says, and Stiles grips the bannister hard, his ghostly fingers whiter than usual. “I could smell him all over both of you,” and Derek looks between Jackson and Isaac, and then heads over to the coffee pot, where he pours himself a cup of coffee and stands there, shirtless, against the same counter Jackson had pushed Stiles into the night before. Stiles winces, and Derek must have caught that, because he moves. 

“It’s not like I don’t care,” Derek says, and he walks back over to Stiles, and Stiles is looking at him, and it’s still new and it’s still jagged and it’s still painful. “But I left. You were free to do whatever you wanted,” and he lifts the hand not holding the cup and drags his fingers across Stiles’ face. Stiles doesn’t smile, but it’s only because he feels more exhausted than he’s ever felt before. 

“Not to interrupt,” Allison says, her voice light from where she sits at the kitchen table. “But at some point you’re going to explain what the fuck is going on, right?”

And Stiles can’t help it, but he starts to laugh. 

***

“Peter will never let us go,” Derek says, and he’s standing in front of the couch, where all of them pile in close, with Stiles hovering over the arm and Jackson trying not to touch him, but failing miserably. “You have to understand that this has never been done, not like this.”

“You left his pack once,” Jackson says, and Stiles turns to him sharply, and then back to Derek, and part of him is furious that the three of them, Jackson, Lydia, and Isaac, know more about Derek than he does. The other part isn’t sure exactly what he wants to know. “Can’t you do it again?”

“This is different. Peter wasn’t an Alpha then. It was my father’s pack, before,” and here Derek pauses and looks away, and Stiles wants to say something or do something, but he knows that this hurt will never go away. “Before Peter killed him.” 

Jackson brushes his fingertips over Stiles’ wrist, but only because Stiles makes a move like he wants to get up. Stiles looks at him, but Jackson doesn’t say anything. 

“Can’t you just kill him and take over the pack?” Allison says, and everyone turns to her, but she just shrugs, unfazed. 

Derek’s eyes flash, and Stiles does get up this time, and he takes Derek’s arm, hard, and he leads him into the kitchen, pulling him out of the others’ sight. Derek looks angry, and loyal, and Stiles press a rough kiss on his mouth and pulls him in close and speaks in a soft voice, even though he knows that everybody can still hear him. “I know how much your family means to you, but please think about those kids out there.” His mouth is whisper close to Derek’s mouth, his lips almost touching Derek’s lips. 

“Think about everyone in that pack,” he says. “And then think about me.”

Derek says, “I can’t, Stiles,” and it’s sad and it’s whiskey-rough, and Derek has his fingers spreading out over Stiles’ neck, has both of his thumbs pressing into Stiles’ cheekbones. “I can’t do what he did to my father.” 

Stiles kisses him, and it’s hard enough that he cuts Derek’s bottom lip with his teeth, rough enough that Derek starts to bleed, and then the taste is gone, the cut already starting to heal. “I know,” Stiles says. “I know.” 

And Derek kisses him again, but Stiles pulls back. “That’s why I’m going to kill him.” 

***

He doesn’t know why, but he leaves the house that night. 

There’s something inside of him that’s calling, something familiar, and he extricates himself from Derek’s arms and pulls back the covers and pads softly past the guest bedroom where Lydia, Jackson, and Isaac are all sleeping, and walks down the stairs. The back door is unlocked, which probably means that Allison went running or to find something to eat or both of those things, and Stiles walks barefoot out the front door, but he’s gliding so fast over the ground that it doesn’t really matter, because his feet never really touch anything. 

He walks past Jackson’s house and walks past the post office and walks past the high school and walks past the diner Derek once said he liked and he starts winding his way up into the hills, and he walks over gravel and he walks over dirt roads and he walks into the woods and over branches and leaves and long, wet grass. 

There’s something about this that doesn’t feel right, something about this that doesn’t feel like himself, but he can’t stop, not even if he tried, and he places a hand on his stomach like he’s trying to warm himself up, but he’s not really cold. Nothing moves in the trees, there’s no sound in the woods at all, and Stiles looks up and around but he can’t see anything. 

Nothing about this is right, he tells himself. 

The woods lead him to a house that he knows, and he stops, just there, just at the edge, where the trees meet the nice, manicured lawn, and then where the lawn changes into an expensive patio. The lights aren’t on and Stiles doesn’t know why he’s here and he wants Derek, if only because Derek always makes him feel safe, if only because Derek might know what’s going on. 

Stiles starts walking, and it’s not of his own accord, and if he didn’t feel afraid before, he really does now, because nothing about this makes him feel brave, nothing about this makes him feel okay. He places his hand on the door handle and it opens easily under his ghostly palm, and the house is warm inside, inviting, and Stiles starts up the stairs, passing the modest furniture he had seen before, passing the room full of boxes. 

He stops in front of a door at the end of the hall, and Stiles tries so hard to pull his hand away from the handle, but it doesn’t even feel like he’s in control anymore. He turns the knob and steps inside, and there’s a light on, so it takes a minute for his eyes to adjust, and it’s a bedroom, Peter’s bedroom, Stiles guesses, because Peter is sitting there with a grin on his face. 

Stiles wonders if this is actually real, if this is all just an elaborate dream, and Peter laughs, as if he could read Stiles’ thoughts. Stiles wants to ask him what is happening, wants to ask him why Peter brought him here, how Peter brought him here, but he can’t speak, he can’t even open his mouth. 

“Don’t worry, Stiles,” Peter says. “I’m not going to harm you, no matter what you’re planning to do with my pack.” 

Stiles feels that thing inside of him pushing him forward, feels it make him turn and sit down on the bed, right next to Peter. Peter brushes his knuckles across Stiles’ cheek and Stiles closes his eyes. “What is this?” Stiles says, and he’s surprised when his throat starts working again. 

Peter laughs again, and if Stiles were still alive, he’s sure his heart would be beating faster than it’s ever beaten before. “This isn’t exactly a dream,” Peter says, and Stiles opens his eyes again. Peter places a thumb just where Stiles’ pulse would be if he actually had a pulse, and then replaces his thumb with his mouth. Stiles tries to move away, but something inside of him won’t let him. “But, then again, this isn’t exactly real life, either.”

“What did you bring me here for?” Stiles says, and it’s like pulling teeth, and his mouth hurts, and his jaw aches from the strain. 

“I wanted to give you something,” Peter says, and his mouth moves up Stiles’ face, to the corner of Stiles’ mouth. He kisses that spot for a long time, his tongue tracing the shape of Stiles’ lips, and Stiles wants to start crying. “Something I just found, rather inexplicably. It was a shock, to tell you the truth.”

Peter’s breath tickles Stiles’ skin, and Stiles feels his chest contract, like something inside of him is starting to fold in on itself, and Peter stands up and pulls Stiles with him, and he takes Stiles’ hand in his own, and leads him out of the bedroom and down the stairs again, looking back once with a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry I couldn’t wrap it for you, but it would have been rather hard.”

Stiles makes a quiet noise and Peter tightens his grip on Stiles’ hand, and leads him through the living room and into the kitchen. He turns on the light and Stiles blinks once, and then twice, and then keeps his eyes closed. Some part of him knows that he’s not going to like whatever present Peter has arranged for Stiles, and Peter’s hand is still gripping Stiles’ tighter than tight, and Peter places his lips on Stiles’, moves his mouth around Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles can’t help but kiss back, and everything about this is wrong. 

“Open your eyes,” Peter says, and Stiles does. 

“Hi, Stiles,” a voice says, and it takes a moment, because of the fresh bruises around his eyes, the blood that seems to be covering the whole right side of his face, it takes a moment, but then Stiles recognizes him.

“Scott,” he breathes.

And then everything goes black.


End file.
